There is always me
by El loopy
Summary: She did dream of Darcy that night but it wasn't what she was expecting... Set in the night between episode 2 and 3. Oneshot. Amanda x Wickham.


There is always me

She did dream of Darcy that night but it wasn't what she was expecting. She was there and so was Darcy and he was telling her how repulsive she was again. She was shouting at him in frustration, screaming, but it was like he couldn't hear her, or wouldn't. She watched him walk away as she shouted at his back, frustration mounting inside her like a surge she couldn't dissipate. There was Collins and Jane. She ran closer, tried to get Jane's attention. Maybe she could still convince her...but Jane's eyes were cold as she turned her head away from her once friend. Amanda tried to grab her hand and pull her away from the slimy example of humanity that stood next to her but the hand slipped from her grasp. Jane turned broken eyes to her captor and Collins wrapped his arms around her, casting Amanda a victorious smile, all teeth and lechery. Then they were gone.

Mrs Bennet was ushering her girls away at a run. "Quickly girls, quickly. Before you succumb." Amanda tried to go after them but faltered at the look of disgust and fear in Mary, Kitty and Lydia's eyes as they fled from her. Mrs Bennet turned back to her, blocking the way to her daughters. Over her shoulder Amanda saw each Bennet girl run into the arms of a Mr Collins who leered down at them. She cried out in fear and tried to pass but Mrs Bennet towered over her, eyes glowing red with fury and suddenly she was a dragon breathing flames. Amanda ducked and cowered – covering her head with both arms as she felt the heat on her skin and felt sure she was going to be roasted alive.

After a moment of silence she let her hands fall away and lifted her head. She was all alone in the darkness. She had failed.

"You are not quite alone as you think Miss Price." She spun around to find Wickham standing not too far away. "There is always me."

The air of arrogant confidence wrapped around her with an odd desirable effect.

"You? You caused all this," she accused, but she found herself strangely lacking the frustration she'd felt earlier.

"I only wanted to protect you, Miss Price." He took a few measured steps closer to her and she felt reassurance inch through every tense muscle. The resistance to him she normally summoned was difficult to grasp and she couldn't remember why she would want to anyway.

"I don't need to be protected," she insisted. "I had it all under control."

"Yes. Undoubtedly marrying that simpering clergyman was the foremost desire or every woman in the room." Wickham stopped in front of her and she gazed into his face, feeling her resolve crumble. "Let me help you."

"Why? What's the catch?"

She was trying hard to stay distanced; not let him get too close. He was Wickham. He was dangerous. Seducer of young girls and all round villain but all her subconscious seemed to be pointing out was how attractive he was and how maybe he could change...woah Amanda! That way madness lies. She blamed the Book entirely. Just as it hadn't quite portrayed Collins as the all round King of the Mingers that he was, it had failed to mention that Wickham's good looks, charm and appeal in person were almost strong enough to over-ride the morally superior aloofness she'd managed to adopt when reading.

"Why would you help me?" she asked, her voice small and breaking.

Wickham looked at her like it was obvious.

"Why? Because we are the same Miss Price."

She knew with the utter certainty that you only have in a dream that he was going to kiss her and it was going to be amazing….but in true dream style – and nicely linking in with the horrible time she was having – as he moved his head to hers she woke up.

When she woke up in Elizabeth's bed she mostly remembered the intense, searing frustration from the first half of the dream, evidenced by her clenched jaw and desire to hit something. The part about Wickham added a mortified denial and the desire to hit that something with an axe. Fortunately she had seen an axe just the other day, and it was still there. As she swung the weapon determinedly at the door (she _would_ get though – becoming destitute was _not_ an option) she felt the anger and frustration come in tears as her way home would not budge an inch and she swore at every movie that made hacking down a door look easy. She was sure she would have managed it eventually if Mr Bennet hadn't shown up and reminded her that she still had a friend here that she needed to make up with (she felt again the horrible jolt in her stomach at the thought of Jane with Collins). By now the dream had almost completely faded but for some small parts, which is how she found herself standing outside Wickham's accommodation, preparing her very best scowl and mentally reinforcing to herself that kissing him, on this occasion as with any other, was _not_ an option. Her subconsciousness had pointed him out as her potential saviour in an hour of need. She really hoped it was right.


End file.
